


how deep is your soul?

by PresDeMonCoeur



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF!Peter, BAMF!Wendy, Bastardised Chase, Dark Neverland, Darkish Peter, Darkish Wendy, F/M, Flying, Games, Imagery, Imagination, Kinda, Neverland, Neverland is a part of Peter, Neverland is an extension of Peters soul, Peter Pan is a Little Shit, Peter is one with Neverland, Princess Bride mention, Scared!Wendy, The Game, Weapons, Wendy Is Trapped On Neverland, Wendy and Peter are a bit fucked up, YAY romance, but she's okay with it?, but that's okay, fairy dust, not really dark tho, not stockholm syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:38:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6477835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PresDeMonCoeur/pseuds/PresDeMonCoeur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter always wins The Game (officially)</p><p>-</p><p>His home-star is dying and he is dying with it, for they are one, and she thinks this may be the best description of him she has ever heard: a dying star, for stars that die shine the brightest moments before they implode and he is a supernova.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how deep is your soul?

She runsandrunsandruns and she knows that she has never known anything but thefearthechasethehuntthefuckingend, yet she grasps desperately at strands of memories that exist but that she can't remember because the only thing she has felt is thepoundingoffeetandtheburningoflungsandtheachingoflegsandthebreakingofherheart.

She screams, a release of her angerfearlove and she feels so desperately empty after, like the sound purged all emotion from her. She is a Lost Girl on an island of boys and no matter how quickly she thinks, how fast she runs, she cannot win The Game because she doesn't know all the nuances in his plan, doesn't know each of his tricks.

He is coming for her, she knows that - he always does - and that constant is strange on on this island.

But in the silence of the jungle - for the jungle is always silent unless he wills it - she cannot hear him, cannot feel him and she doesn't quite know what to think.

_He's finally given up. He's not coming for her. She's **free**._

She is conflicted, a seastormwhirlwind of **it's over** and **i'm fine** and **he doesn't care**. She's soaring, free as a bird (read: sinking, heavy as a chain wrapped anchor) and she is happysadjoyousdisappointedfuckingruined. She thinks her heart is being torn to shreds and healed at the same time.

But just as she thinks she might collapse with the pain of knowing that she is no longer captive, a gleeful, triumphant crowing echoes through the still, night air.

She grins, as a bolt of fear lances through her. She runs, muddied gown and tangled hair streaming behind her. She laughs, when a wall appears in front of her, simply believed into existence.

The Game continues for some time, before he grows tired of making it harder for her and he believes himself in front of her. She doesn't gasp, having been expecting it - although he held off from "cheating" much longer than he normally does - and he draws a long dagger from his belt.

They circle slowly, left foot crossing over right rhythmically, in a centuries old pattern, first danced by Adam and Eve. Their eyes bore deep into the other's and whilst she knows that she cannot see as far into him as he does into her, she also knows that he is giving her a gift in one of the only way he knows how: he is letting her catch a glimpse of his twisted, tortured heart.

It holds so much hate and bitterness that is not like the heart of the truest believer, but a smoking, ashy black. Alhough, she swears that the flames of chaos licking at the organ are pink, the same colour as her heart.

He lunges, coiled muscles releasing, and she pulls a knife from her mind. They engage in a duel, him with one hand behind his back and her with sweat dripping down her face. Whilst they are unevenly matched she never feels weak, because she is **strong** when she is with him and he never feels strong because she makes him **weak** (although she doesn't know that and he would prefer it if it stayed that way).

She slices her knife up, and in one perfectawful moment she thinks she has killed him. But he laughs instead of groaning.

" _oh bird. you know i'm better than that._ "

She hisses at him, like a cornered animal, and suddenly he is no longer there. Her muscles tense of their own accord, adrenaline coursing through her, because this is a trick-- it has to be a trick, she can't let herself hopefear that he is gone.

Silence resumes in the jungle.

She stands there for a minute and-- who is she kidding? She has no idea how long she has stood there. Time is different on this island and for all she knows she could have stood there for centuries. A chuckle reaches her ear some eons later and she turns slowly. She can hear him running circles around her, can hear his feet on the ground, but she cannot see him.

He blinks into existence in front of her, but night has fallen upon this land and so all she can see of him is his eyes, shining like the star he lives on. His home-star is dying and he is dying with it, for they are one, and she thinks this may be the best description of him she has ever heard: a dying star, for stars that die shine the brightest moments before they implode and he is a supernova.

She feels something akin to pity for him - he is trapped on a dying land, never ageing, never leaving, never loving - but he has doomed her to the same fate as his home and for that she cannot quite bring herself to feel sorry for him (she does not know that he sees her dead in his dreams every night, does not understand that whilst death by his home is bad, death in her world is far far worse, because at least here, he can be with her and she will not die alone and scared).

He leaps into the air with a flourish, her hand clasped in his, green dust glowing, and they soar up into the sky until she cannot see anything but black-blue. He turns to her and for a moment she thinks he will drop her but instead he grabs her by the waist and they spin through the air, faster and faster until her laughter is lost in the wind.

They land some time later and she is giddy with exaltation. Her stomach is a churning mess and she doesn't quite know why, because she's flown before and she hasn't felt like this, but it might have something to do with the look in his eyes and the angle of his jaw.

They surge forward, like bullets from a gun, and the resulting impact is extraordinary. The kiss is not clean or slow or loving, she doesn't melt into the embrace. It's anger and hate and centuries of pent-up tension poured into a aggressive, biting, locking of lips. She thinks she can feel electricity running around her body, from her head to her toes, but she isn't paying attention to anything but the feeling of his lips on hers. She is reminded of a quote from a book he found for her when he went to the real world.

 

" _Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind_."

 

Their kiss may not be pure but it is passionate, in an unconventional way, and it has definitely left all other kisses behind.

She pushes him against a tree, hands fisting against the front of his shirt, and he lets her, he relinquishes control for her (she does not know that he is never in control around her, that he sent her away the first time because that scared him). They kiss for what seems like hours before she pulls away, gasping for breath. He murmurs words into her ear, that are threatening and glorious at the same time;

" _you're so beautiful, bird. when you smile at me you make me want to raze cities for you. you make me weak and strong and worthy. i hate you, darling. i fucking hate you. you twist my heart and my thoughts and i want to twist your neck the same way. you are porcelain and ivory. i could easily kill you. i would kill for you._ "

She kisses him again before he spins her round, so she is the one trapped against the tree. He looms over her, arms either side of her head, caging her in, and if it weren't for the look in his eyes she's sure she would be fighting for her life. She cards her hands through his hair as they embrace and she thinks her world has narrowed down to his lipsneckfacetongue.

When they finally pull away she is crying. He wipes her tears from her cheeks with the pads of his fingers but does not ask what the problem is (he already knows what it is). He doesn't love her.

Admittedly he doesn't love anyone because he doesn't _**do**_ love, but he does care, and he's certain that he has never cared about anyone to the same degree as he cares about her (not even himself).

She hiccups her way to silence when the tears stop and they stand there, her head on his shoulder and his arms encircling her waist, just looking at the starry sky.

The jungle is not silent, the water babbles, the waves lap, insects chitter, animals call. It reflects his mood and he is content. Her lips move of their own accord and she whispers out the sentence that could change **everything**.

" _are we...something?_ "

He does not anger as she half expected he would, but chuckles softly and kisses the top of her head.

" _oh darling bird. you've always been my queen._ "

And with that he releases her and draws his dagger once again. She parries his thrust with a short sword and he makes to jab her in the stomach. She twirls to the side and he grabs her wrist and plants a kiss upon her petal lips.

 

And in the end she finds she quite likes thehuntthethrillthefearthekill. So she pulls away, laughing, nightgown white again with one thought, and The Game starts all over again.


End file.
